


East of Ostwick: The Fall of House Trevelyan

by A_Dubious_Dream



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abandonment, Corypheus Being an Asshole, Dark Past, Dark Solas, Dry Humor, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, I cant write romance, It's not always happy ok?, Loss, Or my writing is laughable, Oral Sex, Partner Betrayal, Red Templars, Redemption, Rejection, Self-Destruction, Sexual Tension, Slight Canon Divergence, Surprise Kissing, Symbolism, Templars (Dragon Age), The Chantry, but sometimes it's funny, saying goodbye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10136306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Dubious_Dream/pseuds/A_Dubious_Dream
Summary: Adahvir Trevelyan is the most wanted man in the port city of Ostwick. Bloodied by a life spent as a pariah, cut out from the wealth and power his paternal relatives enjoyed, Adahvir has survived on the fringes, trading in the skills others found unsavory. Traveling to the Conclave, he looks to confront his older brother, a Templar who stands as everything Adahvir is opposed to, in hopes of either reconciling or ending the suffering he and his mother and sister have endured. However, when the sky tears open, and the volatile magics of a thousand different nightmares begin to manifest as monsters, Adahvir discovers that what plagues the Trevelyans is more than just pride.Learning to set aside his personal vendettas, Adahvir must become something he has never been- a decent human being- and stand for more than just a thirst for vengeance. But how long can his resolve last when the people he loves find themselves servants to a mad god, slowly being corrupted by his foul energies in to mindless beasts? And what is he to do when the woman who stands as the right hand of the Divine, agent of the very faith his family denounced him for, chooses him to be her champion to stop the end of the world?





	1. Bait

_  
Dearest brother,_

_I write to you again, under the assurance from Father, that Levauld takes these messages and drops them off behind the tannery at a secure spot where only you would find them, sealed for protection in discrete envelopes. Yet I hear no reply from you, and have seen no word of any kind since mother became hurt. I do not even know if you have received these letters, let alone read them. Brother, please, if you ARE reading this, I implore you to at least send a sign, a word, anything, for mother's sake if not my own. She tosses and mumbles persistently in a fitful state, and awakens only occasionally to call your name. I do not know for how long she might remain in such a condition. The Chantry nurses are running short on new ways to apply what few topical salves and potions we can afford to her larger bruises. Re-tightening the bandages about her leg also seems to have little effect on its setting properly, and I worry she will carry a limp ~~if~~ when she heals. Yet I am certain if you were to return it would greatly lift her spirits. And if you could do just that, I am most assured her healing would progress further. It would be wondrous for her, especially given how long it's been. It would be wondrous...for all of us, really. _

_I know you must be furious with father. I am as well, I assure you, but mother...she needs us Ada. Please. At least until her fever breaks and the bone is healed enough to bear some weight. Father is busy overseeing expansion to Lady Bruviere's villa. He's pulling attendants and workers from our manor to hers. I fear what may befall us without extra hands to tend to mother though, and what his wrath will lead to should we slip in keeping the warehouse in order. Please Ada, you can't expect us to do this alone. Surely your anger can not be so vitriolic now that it blinds you from returning for Mother' sake? But I am left to wonder what else would keep you away? If it is my pleading, I am sorry. I am sure such constant entreaties for aid weigh heavily on you as a burden... I wish I could do more. I know you often wished the same once. Maybe this is an opportunity though? A chance for something better for us all? We get mother healthy, save up enough to move west to at least Kirkwall, and you can start over there. The merchant houses always have work. Mother and I can take to sewing in the workhouses or serving in the fish yards. And even if you don't want it, Eliveen, my friend at the washing stations, has a brother with ties there. It wouldn't be much, but it would be a place to be legitimate. A place where you could stop hurting people. And getting hurt. Besides, you wouldn't be in competition with Gelamain any longer, right? Without the challenge to her son, that might remove the Lady's ire then? And thus Father's?_

_Wishful thinking. I can almost hear you saying that as if you were in the room...I want to laugh at the thought of you rolling your eyes as you say it, hands twirling in the air. But Ada please. You know I don't like to beg, and if I'm doing that, you should truly understand how desperate I am, and with good reason._

_Come home Adahvir. I fear what Father will do next._

_Your devoted sister,  
Claire_

__

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bann Trevelyan sighed, and set the paper back down on the large desk before him.

"And when did she give you this?" he asked in a brisk tone.

"This afternoon, Messere."

"How many have we sent out?"

"This will be the fourth, Messere."

"Hmph," came Bann's dissatisfied response.

"She's becoming far too much like her brother for my tastes, fucking up the one thing I need her to do. That's the problem with those goddamn kids, all you get is mounting debts and some whining drivel," the old man said acridly.

He rubbed his tired eyes, and let out another exasperated sigh before pushing the letter away briskly to the other side of the desk, as if its mere presence offended him.

"Drop it off, like the others. No traces."

"Certainly, Messere," came the attendants complacent reply, followed by a cordial bow.

Bann grunted as he leaned over and slid open a small drawer in the desk below him, pulling out a small bottle of Nevarran brandy. The older Trevelyan unscrewed the glass top, and slowly poured himself a few ounces of the amber fluid into a sifter before replacing the bottle in the drawer. He swirled the fluidly slowly in his glass, staring in to its golden bubbles intently for a few moments before speaking again.

"And Levauld..." he said, his gaze still fixated on the sloshing liquid.

"Hm? Yes, Messere?"

The attendant lifted from his bow and looked to his master with an emotionless stare.

"Tell the Crows to redouble their vigil around the district. Tell them...hell, tell them I'll raise their rates by thirty percent. But when they find him, I want it done quietly, and I want it actually _done_ this time," he said, his eyes growing hard as he jabbed a thick finger at no one in particular to emphasize his point.

"Of course, Messere," came the attendant's submissive tone.

With that, Levauld gave another short bow, before calmly turning and striding from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Bann sat back in his velvet lined chair and tried to relax, taking a sip his of drink. He closed his eyes, and let a thin sneer form on his lips as thoughts of his son danced across his mind.

"Come home, Adahvir," he whispered quietly to himself, echoing his daughter's words in a mock whining tone.

"Come home...come be with your family...it will be just _wondrous_..."

At this last thought, Bann chuckled with a smile, and took another sip of brandy from his glass, tilting his head back to recline. Across the room, seated against a wall, Bann's older son smirked at the thought as well. Then Gelamain raised a hand to the small stone pendant around his neck, and felt for the familiar warmth of the red crystal on his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a very short chapter. I wanted to first set the stage, give an idea of Adahvir's father (Bann- also the canon name for Trevelyan Dad in DAI), and provide a little foreshadowing (oooo), but perhaps it was too quick. I don't know. I just hope it worked. Dialogue is, and will probably be for some time, an issue for me to work on. Consider this like a working experiment. I write some stuff, tweak it for awhile, and then cut it and call it good, and try to be better the next chapter. I find just finishing a piece of writing and starting over is better for me than revising something too many times. I hope this doesn't make the reading experience miserable for you all though!
> 
> And, if it wasn't already stated, I always love questions, comments and feedback! Thank you for taking the time to read :)


	2. Ambush

__  
**Several weeks later, at the edge of the Frostback Mountains**  


Despite the onset of Spring in the lower valleys and forests, winter still clung to the mountain peaks with an icy resolve. Endra felt the chill wind slip between the pines and stone ravines like a phantom, curling itself around her and the other traveling companions, biting at any areas of exposed flesh. Each member of the small band shuddered as they struggled to trudge upwards against the frosted winds and flurries of snow. A few responded by trying to better wrap thick their bear-skin cloaks about their shoulders, while others brought half-frostbitten fingers to their lips and blew, hoping to spread what precious warmth their breath could afford. Together, the shivering party maintained a slow march under a darkening grey sky above.

No one said a word. The group had fallen silent a few hours before, when Adahvir, their de facto leader, had come across the remains of a young woman. She had been barely of age, skin still soft and unwrinkled, hair full and rich with color, and lips that, had they been warm, would surely have glowed with a vibrant smile. But the scene had made it harder to picture much more of what she once looked like. Even her general physical dimensions were a bit hazy to determine given the amount of blood that covered what few pieces could still be identified. The scene had looked like a butcher's floor the night of a great feast... if butchers were also in the habit of spreading bits of clothing over their merchandise. It was hard to tell if the girl had even suffered or if the sheer brutality of what had happened had overwhelmed her in an instant, but the effects on her clothes and body were unmistakable. Whatever had occurred, it had hit her with the force of an ogre. 

Ahead, Endra watched as Adahvir pushed a small branch away from his face dismissively and ducked under the larger trunk from which it was attached. The discovery had clearly upset him, and his mood had taken a turn to the severe. Clearly lost in thoughts, the others in the party kept a safe distance behind him, each unwilling to disrupt his concentration. The look of seething rage on his face told them all they needed to know about the risks for crossing afoul of his temper in that moment. Besides, no one was unfamiliar with his preceding reputation by this point. He was Adahvir Trevelyan, the Shade of Ostwick. Sheltered as she'd been living outside the city walls amongst the forests and araval camps, even Endra had still heard the stories about the man. The most famous ones told of how he had deliberately let himself be caught and taken to his own public execution stage by a group of Templars for spreading sedition across the city. How he'd insisted his enemies be there to look him in the eyes when he hung from the gallows so that he could curse them one final time. And of course, how he'd subsequently escaped right under the nose of the presiding captains as they read aloud the public condemnation and judgement of his character, slipping his bonds and murdering half of the officers in the city in the ensuing fracas before they could retreat to their barracks. Even though just 28, he had earned a reputation as Ostwick's most wanted, and most _dangerous_ criminal. Not just because of his violence, but because of what he represented to the ruling order in the city, namely his own family. With assassins or hired thugs from the Carta, Crows, Chantry and half of the states of the Free Marches looking for him, and a list of punishable offenses longer than most scripture readings, he was known variously around Ostwick as a swindler, a pirate, a murderer, and a thug, and perhaps the one hope most people in the city felt to being free of the tyranny of the local government. But most of all, he was known for being unwavering in his vendettas. If you crossed Adahvir Trevelyan, you _would_ suffer. 

As scary and intimidating as he was though, whatever had completely dismembered that young girl and then calmly walked away in steel toed boots without leaving a blood trail left even Adahvir showing clear concern. That fact alone had given Endra and the rest of the party considerable pause. A rag tag group of would-be adventurers and bounty hunters, they'd been hired by the rogue in lieu of his usual contacts for a special mission that was taking him well outside the boundaries of Ostwick. For this reason, Adahvir had diversified in the types of people he usually consorted with so as to give an extra advantage when hunting in regions where he was unfamiliar. Endra, the party's mage, and youngest member of the group, had been brought in after demonstrating not her knowledge of the arcane arts so much as her wide range of familiarity with the many plants and animals of Thedas's forests. In the "interview", if one could call a clandestine meeting behind an ale house anything of the sort, Adahvir had made a point to say that she was being chosen to help them navigate in the deeper parts of the forest where prying eyes wouldn't spot them following their prey. Eager as she was to earn some coin and jump start her travels to new locales from which to study, she had lept at the opportunity. Now, however, with the image of the dead girl from earlier fresh in her mind, she was beginning to rethink her eagerness.

Endra had been particularly haunted by the discovery of the young woman because her face, distorted by violence and death as it was, hadn't looked so different from her own. It brought into light the sobering possibility that she was way in over head, not just as a mage in this rag-tag party crewed by a violent psychopath, but in the wider context of her life as well. Even though she was talented beyond her years, sent away by her Keeper to study abroad at the youngest age in the clan's memory, she had only ever known the forests and her people. While she could recount the hundreds of types of mushrooms growing in the fall season and where to find them, her knowledge of topics like politics, religion, wars, and art were all very limited. She hadn't been closeted by any means from these ideas, but only every shown one way of knowing them: her Clan's way. And that way seemed to be completely unlike the wider world around them. Even her understanding of magic seemed insufficient. Whatever had happened in that cottage, Endra had never seen or heard of a spell that could produce quite such visceral carnage in so controlled a manner. It was as if a man walked in, where a monster chose to stay. Yet this monster wasn't some rampaging beast, no. It had operated with a level of precision and control that curdled her blood. The cuts and breaks were...clean...careful... _methodical_. The hunter had operated with a plan when handling its prey, and carried that plan out, which meant it was thinking, and reasoning, and calculating- all the worst qualities a monster might possess. 

Endra had spent plenty of time treading the paths of the fade, peering into lost streams of knowledge amidst ancient forest glades, or communing with the spirits of the departed at ancient battle sites as part of her training, and she had seen the many and varied ways the mortal races had met their ends. Spectres, spirits, and souls, all eventually divulged the unique circumstances that led to their transition from the living to the dead, and she had listened many times to pallid, ethereal voices recounting how this creature or that eventually got the better of them. It was true that most beasts possessed some measure of intelligence, every elf knew that, and even wolves or bears, when pressed by hunger, could be quite creative in the ambushes they laid for wayfaring travelers, but they weren't intentionally malicious. No...no wild thing of the woods or mountains was, and Endra had quickly ruled out any animal as the culprit even before Ruben, their antivan tracker, had found the trail of boot marks leading away from the cottage's back door. 

But possessing the credentials of intentional malice meant refining her list of suspects down to a truly terrible and select few. Even given demons (what Endra and others had first suspected) the level of strength exhibited in tandem with the simultaneous restraint, and the precise means by which the arms, legs, and head all came apart...it just didn't add up. Endra felt her stomach pitch again at the thought of the young woman's listless eyes, still frozen open wide in shock, the collapsed skull, and the ragged tears along the neck where the flesh had been _pulled_ apart. She moved a mitten-clad hand to her mouth quickly to hold back another wave of nausea as her feet stumbled in the snow. She found herself pitching forward for a second before regaining her balance.

"Hey, psst...you ok?" came a man's hushed voice behind her, barely audible over the moaning wind and loud crunching of snow under her boots.

"Y-yea, I think so," she meakly whispered back. "I just...had a moment. It'll pass."

Behind her, Ruben picked up his pace a few steps until he was beside her, and put a hand on her shoulder. The younger elf relaxed a bit feeling his touch against her, and had to resist the temptation to slump against his chest. The constant marching and haunting events of the day were taking a toll, but she was determined not to be the weak link in the group's chain. She had come so far, and been questioned so often for her small stature and apparent inexperience, she wasn't going to give anyone the ammunition for _anything_ to use later against her.

"I'm sorry, it's really nothing," Endra began to protest, but Ruben had already moved his hands across her back, and draped his arm around her, sheltering her with his cloak like a wind block.

"Shh, it is alright, mi serah," he interjected in a smooth, calming voice, a gift accentuated by his antivan heritage.. "There is no need to explain. Just stay here for a moment, I will make this interminable marching easier," the taller man offered in almost hushed coo.

Endra squirmed herself quickly free of his growing embrace however, and took three long strides to get back in front. "No. Thank you. But I am _fine_ ," she proclaimed more loudly, tilting her head up and stomping forward with renewed determination.

Ruben stopped walking for a second, his unfolded cloak still dangling before him by an outstretched arm as he stood blinking bewilderly. Then, the wind picked up again with a low moan, and a particularly harsh gust blew up in to his exposed chest and arms, splashing him with a cold wave of ice and snow. 

"Aiee, _merdo fa freddo_!" he hissed as he quickly pulled his arms back in and busily worked to retuck the cloak about him. Ahead, Endra marched on, not deigning to look back. _Serves you right,_ she thought. _A shem trying to prey on a young girl...disgusting._ The deep-seated mistrust her clan harbored for the other races bubbled to the surface and Endra let it carry her sense of indignant anger to a place of smug vindication. Meanwhile, Ruben swallowed his bruised pride, and bitterly began his slow pace forward once more behind her.

"Oh, well...that's a bit o' bad luck then isn't it?" came another man's mocking voice.

Endra glanced over her shoulder in time to see Ruben flash an annoyed smile that quickly faded to a sneer. He pulled his hood up over his head to try to avoid the man's barbs, but it was too little avail.

"Oh now there, me good man. T'was a good try. But that thing is a young and spry little petal, barely twenty if she's a day. And you...well you...I mean, you're already pushing past thirty. What hope did ya think a creature such as that would want with a dried up wine husk like yerself?" At this, the taunting commentator giggled to himself with an airy laugh.

Ruben's scowl deepened. "Well, at least I have _known_ the dance itself, rather than just sat aside and clapped my knees to the music as it were," he retorted with a snicker.

At this, Perenus, their cook from Hambleton, stopped his wild giggling and his expression soured. 

"Oh is that so...well if ye be from Antiva I bet there's lot of opportunity for you to be _dancing_ with the local Vint boys who come sailing by so regularly for their weekly stock of a wine, perfume and love letters from you lot." 

"Do not be jealous we know how to peddle in the finer things of the world so as to make life worth living," Ruben scoffed, mimicing an air of regality his tattered animal skins and dripping nose couldn't match. "Or that our women are more beautiful than sheep... a fate I've been told can not be said for the poor girls from...where was it you said you were from again? The third or fourth mud flat outside of Markham?" 

"Oh ho ho! Keep it up there Ruby, and ye be seeing who's eating a bowl of _what_ come supper time..." came the cook's hissed response with a sneer.

"Shut it. Or you'll get us all eating a bowl of shit tonight," interjected a fourth voice in a loud whisper from behind the quarreling pair. 

Turning, they both glared at the huge ox-man towering behind them, but neither continued the verbal barbs. Besides being the largest, Pan was also the most lethal member of the party behind Adahvir, a fact he had demonstrated more than once on their trip south from Ostwick when bandits or highwaymen became foolish enough to try the group's mettle. Even now, in the dimming light and growing snow storm, his massive frame and broad shoulders were matched only by the huge two-handed maul he left sheathed along his back. The giant's frame looked like another mountain peak looming up to the heavens. His vitaar tatto, the color of smeared ash and cast in the pattern of a skull about his face, turned an already stern complexion into a downright imposing one, like the scene of a thunderstorm about to break. The Tal-Vashoth mercenary had used his appearance to full effect once already on the trip, against a Varghest they'd surprised near a watering hole. The beast had ended up thinking twice about charging the group when Pan had issued it a bellowing Qunari warcry, replete with menacing pose and a raised weapon. Rather than to try to make a meal out of one of the weaker members, the beast had loped back in to the wilds with its armored tail between its legs, nearly followed by half of the party's warriors all equally as terrified at the horned monstrosity in full battle demeanor as the creature had been. 

Ruben and Perenus separated from one another with a parting scowl, and resumed their marching, huddling against the wind with their cloaks. Even Pan, large as he was, pulled up a scarf to cover his mouth and nostrils to conserve more of the precious heat leaching from his massive core. Still, no one raised a voice to complain. No one asked when they would stop.

The same fear and awe that Pan commanded also played a significant role in how the group perceived Adahvir. As scary as the huge Qunari could be, when the others saw how unquestioningly he bowed his head to the otherwise smaller and younger human rogue, it sent a clear message. If _he_ was cowed in to submission by Adahvir...what sort of power did this smaller man command? The group had already had a brief taste of the menacing truth. An archer had joined the band as it assembled in Ostwick, an older man who claimed to be part of a mercenary company based out of Rivain. He had spent the first three days attempting to ingratiate himself to everyone in the company while simultaneously sowing discontent about Adahvir's leadership. As time wore on, he focused his efforts on some of the more well-trained members in the party in an effort to get them to join under his banner. By the end of the first week, he, and two poor young men from Kirkwall he'd convinced or paid to join him decided the time was right to make their move. Adahvir's strict demands and fierce temper had earned him little empathy among those who followed, but besides the two Kirkwallers, most others had realized that even if only some of the rumors coming out of Ostwick were true, the risk in attacking Adahvir in close quarters was simply too great. They could read the proverbial signs, and busied themselves the night of the attack to avoid being caught as collateral in the ensuing rampage they were sure would follow. And follow it did. 

Thinking they were being aided by the others' silence about the plot, the accomplices waited for Pan to leave on camp patrol, and for Endra to step out with Perenus to look for fire wood before they made their move. In the twilight of early evening they struck, corning Adahvir in his tent. It had been quick. But not silent. Even with the advantage of numbers, the entire forest soon knew the cost of their mistake. Before it was done, each of them had screamed for mercy, even the trained assassin from the Crows, a group known for conditioning their members against physical torture. As a message to anyone else who might be a plant from a rival group among the party, or would-be assassins following in the trees, Adahvir made a point the next day to spend hours dropping different pieces of the man's face along the path as casually as one would spread seeds in a garden. Every few feet, another slice of flesh or a chunk of wet skull landed with a wet thud. It had taken nearly all day for him to empty his bloody bag completely, and he spent much of the time whistling to himself as if the grisly task were nothing more than another part of a typical day's walk. 

  
  


It was another three hours, well after the sun had set, that Adahvir finally halted at the top of a ridge and held up a gauntlet-clad hand. The others marching in file behind him, stopped, and looked up, wondering what was next in store.

"We're here," Adahvir said flatly, his unceremonious tone in stark contrast to the taxing feat they'd all just accomplished. He turned to face the group, and in doing so, his blue eyes reflected the moonlight cast off of the snow. Each iris lit up into a brilliant cobalt blue. Despite their eagerness to finally find rest and warmth, the band of travelers found themselves fixated by his suddenly translucent stare. Endra had been captivated by the color, feeling a pang of sudden familiarity with its hue, almost like the strange blue torches that sometimes burned deep within the oldest temples of the forest. "The Templars must be camped below us, and the mages nearby," he continued, seemingly oblivious to the effect of the lighting. "The ruins are up above, there." Adahvir turned and pointed over the rise, breaking the spell of the moon in his eyes. The illusion shattered, the group shook their heads in a collective daze for a moment before moving up quietly beside him to peer over the ridge. Ahead, they could see the glow from hundreds of small campfires burning in the dark of valley below like a sea of yellow stars. On the other side, torches illuminated some tall stone and wood structure standing against the mountain like a great cathedral. "There, that's where the Conclave will be held," Adahvir added, nodding to the large building. "That's where we need to get in to tomorrow." 

Then, as quickly as he'd beckoned them, he turned and moved back a short ways down the hill. "Make camp," Adahvir commanded coolly. "Don't let them see our fires."

"You heard the man," Pan immediately barked behind him, "get your supplies out." In a moment, the group was dropping their packs and fishing out the respective pieces of the campsite they were responsible for carrying. Endra felt like her legs were going to fall off, and after getting her tent and small supply of herbs and cooking pans out for Perenus to use, she collapsed against a fallen log while Pan and Ruben worked to start the fire. Behind her, the last of the motley group cleared away snow to begin setting up a ring of tents to block the light. Endra leaned her head back against the bark of a nearby tree and heaved an exhausted sigh, fighting the intense urge to just close her eyes then and there. She tried to sell herself on the idea that the half warm stew and nuts Perenus would offer might help mitigate some of the aches in her body, but she knew that was a lie. She knew the food was horrible, and it felt like for all the world that the only thing which might get her on her feet again was a hot bath and three weeks of sleep. _A hot bath...gods, I would take a hot ANYTHING..._ she told herself. Seeing Ruben a moment later pass with a bundle of firewood ready to be ignited, Endra felt a renewed vigor, enough to stave off shutting her eyes, and decided to stand once more and help offer a spark to get some water boiling for their meal. 

A few moments later, the campfire blazed to life under a well placed spell, and everyone in the party huddled close to share in its meager heat. Endra dragged a large rock and sat on it by the fire, warming her hands while Pan rolled a nearby log to create a bench for others to sit as well. Ruben and Perenus chose to simply squat on the cleared ground, opposite each other of course, too tired and too grateful for the heat to do anything else. The group devolved in to idle chatter, and within a few minutes, it seemed as if the events of the day might be forgotten, blown away like another bad memory of the grueling trip. Some light laughter could even be heard as the first ingredients for the stew hit the pot, and the smell of boiling roots floated on the air. As if on cue, however, Adahvir suddenly emerged from the darkness and moved toward the firelight, shattering the tranquil scene. His dark fur cloak trailing behind him like an oversized shadow and his face bore a graver expression than usual. He slid himself quietly between Ruben and another warrior as both of them shuffled aside quickly to make space. Adahvir then took off his long, fur-lined gloves, and stretched his hands to the heat, soaking its warmth through his fingers. Conversations ceased one by one, like flies dropping in a smoke cloud, and everyone began shifting nervously. No one dared to upset the fragile respite they had so recently earned, and all eyes darted to the flame or food pot to avoid an unintended stare.

Everyone, except Endra. 

Besides the imminent sense of danger the man exuded, and the intense look of brooding anger on his face, Endra had noticed something else about Adahvir. She knew it was risky, knew she should look away and not tempt being caught in his focus, especially when his mood seemed so foul, but there was something...wrong... with how he was standing. He didn't look well, and thin beads of sweat were beginning to form at his brow despite the chilly temperature. Mustering her courage, she decided to risk a question. 

  
  


"Adahvir...Erm. I mean, Ser. If you don't mind me noticing, but..." she felt her voice crack as his face turned to hers, dark blue eyes locking with her own like manacles on her gaze. Cast against the light of the fire and shadow, his expression was one of intense studying, and she could tell he was reading her with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. She wanted to fold, roll her cloak over herself, and crawl on her hands and knees back to her tent, out of sight of the severe man, hiding in the shadows until her intrusion was all but forgot, but she reminded herself what had inspired her courage in the first place when another bead of sweat rolled from his brow and down his cheek. 

"I beg your pardon," she continued, fighting the urge to stammer each word, "but I was a healer of sorts in my clan. That's why you hired me, if you remember. I'm sure you do... Um, but... I helped the elders tend to the sick many nights, and collected herbs for all sorts of potions. Given this experience all, I couldn't help but notice the sweat on your brow. It's freezing out here, yet you look as if you were standing in the middle of summer. Would you...like me to brew some elfroot tea or crush some bloodpetal for you? It might help-"

"Elf," Adahvir interjected with a level but authoritative voice.

Endra bit her lip, eyes widening with the fear that she'd overstepped her bounds.

"Are you saying I look sick?" 

"Um...y-yes, ser."

"Firstly, don't call me ser. That's what an officer is. That's what a noble is. That's not what _I_ am." He narrowed his eyes slightly, and his look turned chilly for a moment, before he relaxed again. Then he turned, and, without looking at her, added, "Save your tea. We'll need the elfroot for healing potions tomorrow." With that, he walked back in to the darkness, the light of the fire fading from his cloak as he melded in to the shadows towards the tents. The group stayed silent for a moment, listening to the soft crunch of the snow under his feet as his steps faded away before Pan finally spoke.

"Stubborn son of a bitch."

"He _is_ sick isn't he?" Endra asked, her gaze turning to the huge Qunari with concern.

"Yea. Been that way since we left south of Gherlen. Doesn't know when to admit it though."

"Well, the good sir did want to have us here in time for the meeting tomorrow, and we only _just_ barely make it..." Ruben offered, relaxing slightly as he stretched out his legs and sat back against his hands on the ground.

Ignoring the antivan man's suggestion Endra pressed the large Qunari. "Does he avoid medicine usually?" wondering if she shouldn't just make the tea besides, and offer it anyway.

"Not typically," replied Pan, "but I think he's serious about that elfroot business. We really didn't pack enough to be throwing it around for a case of the sniffles."

"That looks like more than a case of frost-cough," Endra countered.

"It probably is," agreed Pan. "But whatever it is, the illness will only kill him slowly. Tomorrow on the other hand, when we bust in to that Conclave meeting, well...a sword through the gut might take precedence with the healing materials."

"If he's worried about our stocks, I can go out and gather a bit near the camp, I'm sure. It shouldn't take long and I'll be within eye shot of the fire so I couldn't get lost. I'd be back before anyone-"

"No," Pan cut in before she could finish her sentence. "That would only piss him off further."

"Why? Doesn't he want to feel better?" Endra asked perplexed.

"Of course, but with as close as we are to two of the largest army camps in the country, AND with the fact that they're at war with one another, you better believe the woods have eyes around here. A young elf in the dark by herself would be a quick target to be grabbed for interrogation...or worse. I'm sure a lot of these boys have been marching just as much as we have, and their nerves are twice as frayed knowing the enemy is at their door step. No, you stay within the tent circle, just like everyone else. Nobody can risk giving away our position," Pan warned, looking from Endra to the other faces gathered around the fire, meeting each of their eyes until they silently nodded in agreement. 

"Good," Pan said finally, believing the issue put to rest. "Now let's eat."

"Ach, shit, the stew!" Perenus cursed, realizing he'd forgotten to mix the tiny bowl of heating roots. After some careful blowing, stirring, and an extra pinch of salt to try and salvage the flavor, everyone took a cup of the now thick and bitter fluid with a swig of fresh snow-melted water and a dry tack of weeks-old bread.

"You've outdone yourself again, Perenus..." came Ruben's voice as he sniffed his cup with disdain.

"Oh, I'm sorry, does the wee princess not like her cake and tea?" was Perenus's less than sympathetic response.

The rest of the party choked and gagged down their meal, and then drew lots to determine the order of who would keep watch when over the night. With a silent "shit," the mercenary slated to go first took post by the fire while the other retired to their tents. Exhausted by the day's long marching, it was mere minutes before the first snores began to ring out over the chilly mountain night air. After another thirty minutes, nearly everyone, including the sentry at the fire, were fast asleep. Endra waited, patiently listening and counting the different types of breathing she could hear, making sure the others wouldn't wake, and then silently grabbed her herb pouch and rolled out of her tent, and in to the darkness.


End file.
